


What is Broken

by GRINtelligencer



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Broken things that can be fixed, Gen, Glasses aren’t all that’s being fixed here, Glasses repair, More post party AU, outside pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GRINtelligencer/pseuds/GRINtelligencer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glasses maker has his best customer return in less than pristine condition. Liam goes to get his glasses fixed. </p>
<p>Post party AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, metaphors. I tried to get all fancy about it. I also really wanted to write something from an observer’s point of view about the relationship between Liam and Break. The boys look rather interesting without context.

The glasses maker frowned a bit when his next customer was ten minutes late. He began to worry in earnest when the man was twenty minutes late. By the time the young man, his best customer and usually his most punctual too, was almost half an hour late the glasses-maker rose from his work bench to check the note that had been delivered to his shop by one of those Pandora men.

Yes, it definitely said the young man would be by today, half an hour ago, with glasses in need of serious repair. This was quite irregular. Usually this customer was right on time. Whatever could be wrong?

Ten minutes after that, forty minutes past when the appointment was the door to his shop opened and a man entered. The glasses maker looked up from his work; his own glasses perched on the end of his rather long nose. His relief was quickly crushed when he got a good look at who had walked through the door.

It was a tall man, with a long dark coat and a wide brimmed hat. He was quite striking, what with all that black, but the effect was ruined slightly by his rather fly-away curly hair, which he wore long.

The man halted just inside the door and peered about the dim shop, looking for a shop keeper. The glasses maker stood from his work bench, setting his work carefully on the worn wood.

His movement had caught the eye of the man, who took a step toward him, asking, “Are you the glasses maker, Mr. Henderson?”

The glasses maker opened his mouth to reply but someone else beat him to it. “Gilbert, really, of _course_ this is Mr. Henderson.” the speaker’s tone was, to put it politely, put upon. “His name is on the door.”

The man, Gilbert, glanced behind him at the speaker and moved forward so they could come in the door. Framed against the light from the door was his tardy customer, leaning against the man who stood next to him whose hold on his arm was clearly all that kept him on his feet.

“Mister Liam,” the glasses maker greeted his long time customer. Then he noticed how one of the young man’s uniform sleeves hung empty because his arm was in a sling. And how the young man stood with his weight off one leg and very much leaning against the white haired man next to him. And how the young man’s face was pale and there was a bandage around his head. And how there was a nasty cut across the young man’s cheek and he wasn’t wearing his usually ever-present glasses. “Why, what happened to you?” The glasses maker asked before he could stop himself.

A winced passed over Mister Liam’s face and the glasses maker immediately regretted mentioning it. “I had a rather nasty accident in the course of my work.” he said it like he’d spent some time rehearsing it in his head.

“Oh.” said the glasses maker. “Pandora work,” he shook his head. “They work you boys far too hard.” he directed this comment not only at Mister Liam but at the white haired man who was standing next to him (who also wore a Pandora uniform and snickered at his words). The glasses maker indicated the chair he had for customers. “Sit, Mister Liam, you mentioned in the note you had glasses for me to repair?”

“I do,” Mister Liam replied. He went to take a step forward and the dark man he’d called Gilbert hurried to his side. The usually polite to a fault Mister Liam leveled what could only be called a glare at him and shook off both his helping hands and those of the white haired man he’d been leaning against. His limp was quite noticeable now and he went several shades paler as he headed for the chair but he made it there without falling over, much to the glasses maker’s surprise.

When he sat it was slowly, carefully, with his good hand bracing himself, which made the glasses maker wonder if there were other injuries that were safely hidden under clothes. With his customer safely seated the glasses maker breathed out the breath he had held without even realizing it. He managed not to make it sound like a sigh of relief, which was better than the man Gilbert did --something which earned him a glower a clearly irritated from Mister Liam.

Meanwhile, the white haired man had drifted over to the wall where his spare frames and lenses were stored, they made quite a pretty wall arrangement, especially at this time of day when the sun hit the glass and metal and made them shine brightly. He wasn’t actively hovering like Gilbert, but there was something about his manner that suggested he rather badly wanted to.

Once the glasses maker settled into his own seat, across the small table he always used to keep his customers at a distance and thus out of his light, Mister Liam took a handkerchief out of his pocket and slid it across the table.

“Here they are.” he said.

Curiosity rather sparked at this the glasses maker unwrapped the handkerchief and winced. Both lenses of the glasses had been shattered, one was completely gone while the other was spider webbed with cracks. The frame was twisted beyond saving, one of the legs wasn’t even attached anymore and the empty lens barely retained an oval shape. These glasses had been through hell --he glanced up at the battered man across the table from him-- apparently the same hell as their owner.

He carefully picked up the frame, turning it this way and that in his worn hands.

“Are they repairable?” Mister Liam asked.

With a sigh he set the frames back on the table. “The last time,” he said, choosing his words in a slow, measured way because he didn’t want to loose a customer he’d had for so long, “I saw a pair of glasses this badly damaged it was for a man who had been run over by a carriage… and they were brought in by the widow. She wanted them repaired so she could bury them with him.”

There was a heavy silence in which Mister Liam went several shades whiter.

“I… see.” he said, his voice rather a bit less steady than before. “Beyond saving then?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry.” he offered, though he felt like it was paltry compensation. “I can make up a new pair but… grinding the lenses, casting the frame, little fitting adjustments, it all takes time.”

“Of course… I remember. From when you made my first pair.”

“How long ago was that now?” asked the glasses maker, hoping the subject change would, perhaps, lighten the suddenly oppressive mood. “I feel like I’ve have made more pairs of glasses for you than any of my other customers.”

“That’s quite likely.” Mister Liam smiled a slight smile that looked rather out of place, as if he’d force it there. “I think I was eleven, but I’m not quite sure.”

“Yes, I think it was around eleven.” he rewrapped the mangled glasses, not liking the sight of them, all broken and sad, on his table. “Do you want me to keep these? Or were you planning to?”

“I… I hadn’t really thought about it.” Mister Liam said. “I suppose they’d be of no use to me. Keep them.”

The glasses maker nodded and swept the handkerchief and its contents into his hand, carrying those over to his workbench. When he came back to the table he bore a pen and paper. “So you’ll be wanting similar frames?” he asked after sitting.

“Yes.”

“And I recall you were in fairly recently for new frames so I will just make new ones off the old measurements?”

“That would be perfect.”

Since Mister Liam’s tone indicated that he might be nudging the conversation toward a close the glasses maker asked the question he’d really been wanted to re-ask since the conversation began. “If it’s not too rude of me sir, I really am curious …an accident you said… what happened?”

“… it’s…” Mister Liam’s eyes darkened.

Quietly and without any fuss, the white haired man drifted to stand right behind Mister Liam. His hand came to rest on Mister Liam’s shoulder --not the one whose arm was in a sling-- and he spoke for the first time, “I’m afraid, Mr. Henderson, that we can’t talk about the details, what with it being Pandora related and all.”

“Oh, of course!” something about the way the white haired man was smiling widely, well, not quite at him but in his general direction, suggested he should drop the subject _right now_. “I’ll just bill it to the usual account and send a note to Pandora when I finished the new lenses.”

“We’d be obliged.” said the white haired man. “Gilbert.”

The dark haired man jumped at the sound of his name. “Yes?”

“Go get the carriage. We’re leaving.”

“Are you sure you don’t want my help--” he began.

“Carriage, Gilbert.” the white haired man cut him off.

 Without another word Gilbert left.

“You shouldn’t snap at him.” Mister Liam told the white haired man. “He just wants to be helpful. He’s worried.” He went to sit up and winced, falling back into his chair. The glasses maker was about to rise from his own seat of offer his aid when the white haired man reached a hand down to Mister Liam.

Before Mister Liam had shaken off his helping hands but perhaps now pain had changed his mind. He accepted the white haired man’s hand and let him pull him to his feet with a hiss of pain. For a moment he looked pale and off balance, but after the white haired man held him steady he seemed to pull himself together and straightened.

“I hope you don’t take it amiss,” he said to the glasses maker, “if I say I hope that I am not seeing you again soon. At least, not under these circumstances.”

The glasses maker glanced at the bundle that contained the smashed glasses. “I certainly hope not.”

“Indeed. Good-day.” With that last pleasantry Mister Liam limped out, with the white haired man next to him, offering silent support.

When the door closed behind him the glasses maker settled back into his chair and sighed. 

 

Outside Break helped Liam down the three stairs in front of the shop.

“Are you alright?” Break murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“They couldn’t be fixed. You liked that pair, didn’t you?”

Liam shrugged, knowing that Break would feel the motion because he was holding his arm to support him. “I was in need of a new pair anyway. The new ones… they will be better.”

 

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**What is broken**

**May be mended.**

 

**(Anonymous)**

\--------------------------------------------

End.


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